


Paladin's Midnight Sun

by Muzuki_chan



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Multi, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muzuki_chan/pseuds/Muzuki_chan
Summary: The sky was starting to twinkle with an orange as bright as an egg's yolk and the stars disappearing into the wake of dawn, he knew this was just only the beginning of what he had created for himself and Shinra: a voyage to freedom.No Alpha was going to stop them now.





	Paladin's Midnight Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Even though the original date for when this (uncompleted) fic was written is 08/17/16 I've finally decided to post this work from the kinkmeme part twelve to finally posting it here on ao3 on 1/12/18. May the beloved and wonderfully kind anon who requested this forgive my procrastinating and busy-with-school ass in having never really written it further than chapter one. But hopefully since I'm posting it here it'll kick my ass into writing this again!

Silence.

The floor is cold; everything is cold no matter what happens, and it is probably better that the heat doesn’t exist here. His fingers crack as they twitch, curling until dull nails stab into the pale flesh of his clammy palms. A sigh, the dank air that he detests immensely is inhaled into his lungs as he rises to a kneel from a curled-up fetal position on the cold, unwelcoming cell floor.

For at least two hours – estimated approximately by the position and walking routine of the night guards that had passed through – he had spent the time listening to the flickering silence of lamps and his own light breathing. He had stared at the ceiling for much longer though, staring until he swore to whatever merciless God within the heavens that he had found an undesired pattern in the minuscule cracks of the cell's ceiling. 

That was how he coped; it was his own self-taught technique of how he was able to discard the events of what had happened--

Until he no longer felt grimy palms and greedy fingers clutching his hips and demeaning words whispered on his skin. Forgetting the mouthing wet lips that tasted like aged wine and disgusting pig lard that the Lord had eaten for dinner; Lord, Alpha – the titles were practically interchangeable the day he was born – tangled him up with demands, sweat-covered body convulsing with forced pleasure that mingled in the air with his own faint scent of metallic lust that hung low in the room like a heavy fog.

Time withered away as he spent it all focusing instead on the barely perceptible memory of the Lord’s colorful tapestry strung with gold tassels that were hung on the Lord’s bedroom walls. They were quite large and some of them resembling self-portraits, but none of them stuck to him as much as the one that were splayed out in the long halls for their astounding difference. They were of dark colors with soft dyed thread sewn into pictures of all kinds: cavalries, knights, bountiful lands filled with greenery and cattle roaming large hills. Yet despite the forced reverie, the vivid imagery crashed to an abrupt halt as he remembered the overflowing musky scent peppered on the Alpha's duvets that alerted the downfall of the omegas before him. It was disgusting enough for his skin to crawl with revulsion, but it didn’t matter.

It was a small price to pay if everything went according to plan tonight. 

As quick as it was to be shackled to the Lord, to the overbearing Alpha's bed, he wasn't there anymore and was instead in the dungeon that was located beneath the manor. Donned in nothing but a lowly serf's ruined outfit and a robe gifted to him by the Lord, he pried his eyes away from the cell's brick ceiling - if he continues to stare any longer, he knows for a fact he would end up trying to find a meaning within the cracks - and heaved upwards until he could stand on his own two feet. 

The skin of his legs have swelled with change--massive blotches of blue and purple mingle near his kneecaps and smear upwards before his thin shirt cuts off the view while several spots of aging yellow and greens fade out on the skin near his ankles. His mouth salivates without permission, a distinct taste of bile foams on the taste buds of his tongue while a sour tang of repulsion clacks on his teeth. He hates these marks just as much as he hates the arrogant Alphas who parade as finely dressed Lords throughout the land. 

These bruises are stamped into into his skin like scars and even if he knows they will fade away with time, it stays stubbornly etched into his mind like a knife carving patterns onto wood. His old comrade - jokingly said before she disappeared the next day like she never existed - remarked of his skin to that of dough. And if he closes his eyes and listens hard enough to that certain memory, he can hear the nagging comments of how his fair skin was fresh in comparison to the white insides of baked bread, and like every other omega within the confines of this kingdom, just as greedy to soak in the colors of bruises like how that of stale bread easily soaked up the Lord's spilt wine on his dinner plate.

A low growl emitted in his throat, vibrating with a slew of conniving ambition as he snapped to the door of his cell. Slender, pale-skinned fingers grab the lock and with a quick dig into the pockets of his robe, he fished out a self-made lock pick. Thin, strong iron jammed into the keyhole and with rough tussling, the lock was pried open.

Step one was complete.

The door to his jail groans in protest as the rusted black metal bars are swung open with a sliver of hesitance. He moves to peek out to make sure that the surrounding halls are desolate of guards; eyes squinting as the row of cells parallel and opposite to his are too dark to make out anything.

But with his sense of smell that had unfortunately grown accustomed to the musty, mold-infested air, he was able to detect the pitiful fates of the few omegas surrounding him. With eyes barely blinking at the faint scent of scarlet copper and the brewing smell of rotten death festering from within several cells, he crept out of his own like a half-starved vagrant cat and traipsed down the hall to his right.

Adrenaline and rushing blood tumbled together, clashing loud like a pounding hammer against his ears. His heart drums against the fragile bones of his ribs as his eyes dilate to adjust to the flickering light of a lantern hung further down the hall beside a heavy wooden door.

The flame of the candle held inside the lantern flicks its flame like an index finger motioning a 'come hither' while the door coaxes with a heavy temptation of possible freedom. He holds his pace steady despite the urging to exist faster and the howling of paranoia in his skull begging him to just run forward.

Similar to the clunky wagon horses within the stables that wore blinders, he kept his gaze on the prize that appeared in the image of a wooden door. Feet dragged heavy against the ground as he made a cautious beeline to the door, and the closer he got the more the door materialized a distinct look. The knob appeared sleek despite the grooves of fingers stamped around it and the metal hinges were already fading with brown discoloration – the door had surely seen better days years ago, but he had no time to think of useless topics.

He wraps his fingers around the knob wrenches the door open with a loud click and a sharp intake of breath; gusts of cold air tousles his dark locks, colliding into his unsuspecting person akin to a strong wave as his skin shivers with goosebumps trailing down his arms. His body jolts at the force of the chilly air until he notices what lies beyond the door causing his eyes to widen to the size of a saucer.

A stair case.

It spirals upwards, albeit a little lopsided as the bricks of the steps seem to have worn down from repetitive boots pounding against them, but nonetheless it was the stair case he had seen several times on his trip to the surface and back into the dungeon below that he resided in. He inhaled the air with an instinctive reflex of thirsty, oxygen-craved gulps as a wickedly mirthful smile dashed across his lips.

He could barely contain his glee as he threw away his cautious approach and lunged up the flight of stairs with a flurry. This was a better than being served a fattened-up goose or a prettily slaughtered pig with an apple in its mouth. It was much more generous than being served herb-garnished game meat, soaked in alcoholic beverages that he wouldn't even dare to name, on shiny plates decorated with silver knives and spoons – oh no, the flight of stairs and the bone-chilling air was a much more graciously divine gift than anything else he had ever received in throughout his life of confinement.

A giddy, choking laugh exhaled from his throat as the air evolved from damp mold-festering air to the rich tasting oxygen of open land, and without a second thought of holding back, he laughed. A laugh bellowing out from deep within his gut sputtered out giggles and tear-triggering cackles from his dry, cracked lips. Arms that swung to keep his balance were thrown to the sides to touch the compacted brick walls, nails dragging against every groove and crevice of dirt, dust and stone. He was so close now that he could taste it!

Quickly approaching the end of the flight of stairs another obstacle materialized before his eyes: a set of heavy, wooden-latched doors. It appeared unlocked as the edges of the doors weren't closed all the way, allowing a sliver of pale light to filter in through the cracked gap instead of the constant yellow from candles that had lit up the path upwards for him.

Sweat-laced palms hesitate for a second as he eyes the doors with a surprised _'Aha!'_ on his tongue before moving to press his hands firmly against where the door handles would have normally been. He shoves them both and cringes as a piercing sound of a metallic grinding whine reverberates from its un-oiled hinges. Immediately he arches his body from the door way and for a moment he is blinded by the light of the moon as he takes his first steps out of the threshold of the doors.

His body jumps at the foreign contact of his toes touching the loose dirt beneath his feet. It is almost strange, but he welcomes the way of how the soil crumbles yet hardens simultaneously under his growing strides when he heads towards the manor. Soon enough the way his felt melds with the dirt drawls into a state of normalcy as he huddles closer to the brick walls of the large house.

The farther he walks away from the gaping jaws of the opened dungeon doors, the more his feet has stepped away from loose soil and on to the familiar cobble-paved roadway that he's strode along on so many times before. Though no matter how familiar the feel of stone is beneath his feet, the difference is vast in comparison to the one down below the surface of the earth.

The coldness of the cobbles chill the soles of his heels, gnawing into the sensitive flesh in the arch of his feet as he slinks into the shadows of the trees nearby with light steps. His brain fires off random names of what the trees are: Sycamores, Maples, perhaps an Oak or maybe even an Alder tree. The voice in his head that thirsts for knowledge simmers down to a hushed whisper as a strangled inhale of surprise is caught in his throat. In the peripheral vision of his right eye, he quickly spots a flicker of light in one of the windows; in one of the _kitchen_ windows.

"....Ah." He chuckles as he wipes away the spark of fear off his brow, "I should have known that you, out of all places, would have chosen the kitchen."

The dark figure holding the candle swoops around first until it bends down, away from sight that could be viewed from his hiding spot beneath the shadow of the trees. He leans closer to the floor as he darts to another veil of shadows. He does it several more times until he's close enough to the window that the figure before stood behind.

He holds in a quick intake of breath; heart beat pulsing hard against the veins of his aching, parched throat but he takes no notice of it as he wipes a sweaty palm against his robe.

In this moment the moon stills high in the sky, bathing the dark-almost-brunet omega in a soft washed-out light that does nothing but highlight the dark bags underneath his eyes and frame how his eyes gleam as sharp as a polished mahogany table. He is sure that the other person is still inside the spacious kitchen, and if the plan hasn't fallen apart yet like the previous one three years ago, then there was no other preferable choice but to continue: shoulders hunched inwards as he braced himself for any oncoming surprises, he raises a hand and knocks.

Knuckles tap against the window panes once with a quiet knock. In a whiplash he snaps his hand back to his chest as if he had instead reached inside a pit of open flames and not a lonely kitchen window.

He chews on his bottom lip hard enough till it beads with a droplet of crimson, but the taste escapes unnoticed as his thoughts come to a mind-chilling halt.

What if a wandering guard had caught his omega friend? What if he had been chased and was being cornered this very instant? What if-what if he was _dead?! What if--?!_

A lantern slides across his face and he hisses at how close the cold metal comes to grazing the tip of nose. Boyish laughter greets his ears along with a: "Are you a vampire now, Izaya-kun? Do I need to invite you in so you can come through the window, or is this another strange hobby of yours that I wasn't supposed to know about?"

" _Shinra_ ," Izaya hisses the name through his teeth as he deftly ignores the jest. His finger snap to grasp the wrist that refuses to stop twirling the lantern in front of his face, and grimaces with a light scowl on his lips. "What the hell?"

Another short laugh is derived from Shinra until it ends with an airy gasp when Izaya's grip on his wrist tightens. Shinra gives a comforting smile - or at least as comforting as it gets when Izaya spies a sharp blade of a knife that he places on the windowsill - and pats the squatting omega on the shoulder.

"You were taking too long," Shinra whines as his lips stick out to form a childish pout. "And it's been two hours already, _two hours almost bordering on three_ , Izaya-kun. So I might have...."

His words trail off as he offers a heavy lump of blankets that he has placed on the windowsill beside him. Izaya's brows are still quirked, raised questioningly but he shuffles over to alleviate the wanting to see what is inside of it. He gingerly unfolds the edges of the coarse fabric with a careful prodding of his fingers. The muffled scent of what could be in it grows stronger during the process of unwrapping it, and he sniffs a hint of barely bread, dried fruits and a block of cheese.

The sight of the food is heaven-sent and Izaya's lips tremble as he inhales a deep breath of the small sustenance that Shinra has packed. His tongue grows heavy and thick in his mouth as his inner cheeks salivate with hunger, but instead he turns his gaze away to the sharp edge of the knife that stands alone on the wooden sill of the window. He shoots another questioning glance towards Shinra, but the male omega is already holding the knife and stuffing it into their small pack. Izaya opens his mouth to question it but Shinra interrupts him as he jumps out the window with a thump.

Shinra's clothes closely resembles Izaya's serf outfit despite being cleaner from residing inside the house for several night. The lantern swings in his grip from the landing, but he pays no notice of it as his eyes rake in Izaya's haggard appearance.

"Also, if you were wondering about the knife" – a brief sigh that sounds suspiciously like a yawn – "I thought it might come in handy."

His voice is light despite the situation of the two floundering close enough to the ground that they might inhale dirt instead of air, but Izaya snorts in response and takes the lead. Shinra follows closely behind him as they stealth their way through the shadows that are cast down from both the manor's tall structure and the trees. Their breathing is quiet yet still distinguishable within the momentary lapses of silence that the night wears proudly until dawn approaches.

They travel far on their bare feet to avoid any night watchers, even going far out enough to round the corners with caution as the smell of beta guards grow frequent the closer they hustle to towards stable. Their quick footsteps leave a small cloud of dust in their wake, but Izaya only ascends closer to the stables where the smell of hale bales and horse manure grows pungent. Shinra sneezes, which he receives a light jab in the ribs in response from Izaya, and the two continue until they stand at the opening of the stables. They slide under the wooden bar that purposefully blocks any horse from escaping during the night.

They sneak to the one of the stalls residing in the back and pick a chestnut mare - the color only noticeable due to the lantern that Shinra has continued to carry despite the huffing spat of disagreement from Izaya - and Izaya saunters off to grab any necessary equipment that they might need for the ride. Carrying back with a bridle and a saddle under his arms, Izaya quickly places the equipment on the horse as the small inching movements of the moon draws closer to being replaced by the bright dawn. He holds back a growling snarl in his throat but allows a down-turned scowl in his expression and quickly moves to wrangle on the saddle and bridle onto the alert mare.

Shinra smiles apologetically as he leaves Izaya to pack the small necessities they have with small-voiced apologies of being too near-sighted to help much in the dark. Izaya nods, ears not quite catching the remorseful statements as he focuses his attention on attaching the blanket-wrapped package on the horn of the saddle. Finished with the mare, Izaya leads her out of the stall along with Shinra and they halt her to a stop near the opening of the stable. Izaya gets on the horse first with the help of the stirrup, pulling himself up and swinging himself over the broad back before leaning down towards Shinra with an outstretched hand to pull him up.

The added weight causes the horse to take several steps forward and a flailing Shinra to wrap his arms tight around Izaya's waist. "W-wait, I have a question--?!"

His fingers lace tight around the recently-used reins; he goads the horse with the pressure of his squeezing legs to move forward in a slow trot. Shinra's squeak is caught up in a hitching gasp of surprise as the quick pace they aren't yet accustomed to increases into a steady canter.

"Do you even know how to ride a horse?!"

Izaya turns his head at the question with a gleeful smile that counteracts his sentence of: "Of course not, Shinra, when on earth would I have time to learn this?" The pace of the canter reaches another peak of fast as Izaya coaxes the horse to a gallop while Shinra squawks into his ear. The chestnut steed's hooves pound against the dirt path as the manor grows distant behind them and the bubble of anxiety and fear mixes in with the apparent feeling of sweet freedom.

The air rushing against them is refreshingly cold while the horse strides into a full gallop on uneven grounds of dirt. It feels rough on their bottoms, but Izaya can barely feel it; they are free now. The thought of how they will survive with a small pack of food and with nothing but their clothes on their back clouds a part of his mind, but Izaya shrugs it off with a nonchalant gaze. The only goal that has any reason to cloud his mind is to get as far away from the manor as possible before the sun rises and to find the boundary of the kingdom that he knows exists somewhere out there in the wilderness beyond his sight.

He packs all his worries despite the last with a knowledge that they will get to approach those problems one by one eventually, but for now....

For now they will ride on into the oblivion of freedom that has currently become a veil of dark wilderness, and new approaching dangers that they've only heard from drunken men's fits of angry story-telling and the legends that passed through the cells of every omega born within the dark shadows of forced pleasure.

And with nothing but the clopping hooves creating a soothing lullaby for the long-haired, short-sighted omega that claimed title as his best friend drooping into a fitful slumber behind his back, Izaya continues to stare off into the vast distance of land. The sky was starting to twinkle with an orange as bright as an egg's yolk and the stars disappearing into the wake of dawn, he knew this was just only the beginning of what he had created for himself and Shinra: a voyage to freedom.

No Alpha was going to stop them now.


End file.
